Suitable Sentiments
by Clodius Pulcher
Summary: Crossover with The Three Musketeers 2011.  A certain red-haired anthropomorphic personification meets Milady de Winter.  MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE 2011 FILM.


**SUITABLE SENTIMENTS**

****~o~O~o~****

__**Disclaimer:**__ I own nothing and I make nothing from this. Warning for MAJOR SPOILERS for the 2011 film.__

**~o~O~o~**

_Milady fell to spare him from pulling the trigger..._

Ha, no. Milady fell because a chance at life is better than certain death, because falling is better than lying bleeding on the flying deck. Milady fell because down below the Channel lay like a silver snake, gleaming through the clouds. Milady fell because Milady can swim.

Still, she knows Athos. He's sentimental. She's sure he'll find a suitable sentiment for the occasion.

This she thinks afterwards, once she's coughed up enough liquid salt to flavour a ten-course banquet and is standing, shivering, on the Duke of Buckingham's deck. The cold wind snatches at her dripping hair. Someone's provided her with a dry cloak, at least, although she thinks the dampness from her dress is soaking through. She's not quite steady on her feet yet. She can still hear the air whistling in her ears and there's this odd sense she might be floating, even though Buckingham's ship is cutting through the waves. She holds onto the rail and stares into the distance and thinks of Athos. All said and done, it could have been worse. He could have shot her.

I would have done, she thinks and then adds, probably, because you don't last long as a liar, thief, assassin, spy and repeatedly treacherous multiple-agent without a decent dose of self-knowledge. She wasn't lying when she said she loved him. If Athos had betrayed her? Well, she's earned it. She can calculate the value of integrity down to the last _sou_. She would have laughed and congratulated him on making a profit, if the price was high enough. In his shoes, she'd have killed Buckingham.

That's the trouble with being sentimental. No perspective.

Oh, Athos, thinks Milady. What fun we could have...

A puddle is forming round her elaborately embroidered shoes and overhead the ships are sailing remorselessly on towards France. Milady's starting to think she might fall over, or possibly float up into the rigging, if she lets go of the rail. "Careful now," says someone at her elbow, just as she decides to make the experiment anyway. "You don't want to fall in the drink again, not now things are getting interesting."

Milady blinks until the someone comes into focus. It's a woman, which might surprise Milady if she didn't know Buckingham's friends so well. Must be some stray mistress, thinks Milady, although she would be the first to agree that mistresses can be dangerous people; she's been one often enough. And this woman looks like a mistress after her own heart.

"Thought I'd drop in and say hi," the mistress adds. Her hair burns all the way down to her waist in waves redder than Milady's ringlets, which are rare enough to start with. "Express my gratitude, that sort of thing. I knew you'd pay off one day."

Under normal circumstances, Milady would have had a decently witty response to that. What she actually says is, "What?" because it's been a long day and almost drowning really takes it out of you.

"I've been watching you," says the mistress. "Good work back in Venice, by the way. I don't normally care about heists, but those plans you stole... let's just say I have a _personal_ interest. I've been waiting for someone to find those things for years."

"You have?" says Milady, weakly. She can't place the woman at all. She's sure she'd remember someone like this. Orange eyes are even odder than such red hair.

"Yeah," says the mistress. "And now look what you've given me."

She gestures at the fleet in the sea and the one in the air, all sailing towards France in perfect formation. A hundred fires roar overhead, keeping the flying ships aloft. Cannons and fresh paintwork gleam. War, thinks Milady. That's what it's going to be. War in France, thanks to Cardinal Richelieu's schemes and Milady's hard work. It wasn't meant to happen like this. The ports blockaded, the inland cities ablaze in a storm of fire and cannon balls. What good are walls against an attack from the air? It's going to be hell.

Still, war has so many possibilities for an enterprising young woman, especially when everyone thinks you're dead. It could be worse. She could be sentimental and a patriot, like Athos.

The mistress leans against the rail and grins at her.

"You're my sort of girl, Milady," she purrs. There's something in the way she says it that drives any last, lingering thoughts of Athos right out of Milady's head. She's got a voice like a knife, all point and edges. "Don't you worry. I'll be keeping an eye on _you_."


End file.
